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In my endless wandering through this bleak, colorless wasteland, I’ve had more time to reflect on my life than I ever wanted. There’s nothing out here to distract from the gnawing thoughts that circle in my mind. And in that reflection, I’ve realized something—I was unfair to Tom. More than unfair, really. I was cruel.

I treated him with disdain, judged him for something as arbitrary as his bloodline, and held onto my superiority like a shield against my own insecurities. I see that now. All my arrogance, my outbursts, they were born from fear—fear of the other. I took it out on him, an easy target, because he wasn’t like me, he was a mutant. That difference, in my mind, somehow made him lesser. But it didn’t. It never did.

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If I could go back, I would apologize to him. I would tell him I was wrong. But time, like everything else, seems meaningless in this cursed place. Tom is probably long gone—maybe he escaped, or maybe he’s wondering these same gray hills, trapped in his own torment. On the off chance he stumbles upon one of my corpses, lying in the dirt with this journal by its side, I hope he reads these words.

Tom, if you ever find this, I’m sorry. Truly. I was wrong about you. You didn’t deserve the way I treated you, and I hope you made it out of here. I hope you’re free, wherever you are. Maybe there’s still a chance for redemption in this hellish place, even if it’s just a sliver of human decency left behind in the form of a few written words. Maybe that’s all I can offer in the end—an acknowledgment of my faults, my regrets, and the hope that somehow, in the endless gray, it means something.

Maybe that’s all I have left to give.